Seventh volume 2, p.1
Seventh: Volume 2, page 1
Prologue
The moment I left the inn, I set my feet toward a smithy renowned even among the many in Darion. Yes, that guy walking through the bustling streets so early in the morning? That was me, Lyle Walt.
I stifled a yawn as I ran a hand over my bangs, confirming that my persistent bedhead persisted still. I had blue hair, blue eyes, and a gleaming blue Jewel, which was embedded in a silver pendant around my neck. As for my clothes, I held a jacket with a fur collar in my right hand and had two belts slung around my waist. Normally a weapon would be hanging from one or both of the belts, but I happened to be unarmed for now. This didn’t make me out to be the most reliable of adventurers, but I was only weaponless because my saber and dagger were currently being tended to by a blacksmith.
Novem Fuchs, the girl currently walking at my side, glanced up at me with concern in her amethyst eyes. She wore a navy robe, and her perpetually glossy fox-colored hair was done up in a side ponytail. She was a magician, an incredible one at that, who used a silver staff. She also happened to be the second daughter of a baron and my former fiancée.
Novem had decided to tag along when my own house—House Walt—had driven me out and I had to become an adventurer to make ends meet. I’d been deemed unworthy to be the next head of the house after I lost to my sister, Ceres, in a battle for succession. Zel, the elderly gardener, had taken me in as I lay there in tatters after the deadly confrontation with my sister. Zel had also passed down a family heirloom to me: the blue Jewel.
I’d lost everything, and yet Novem had decided to follow me when I left. She had obstinately clung to my side despite my attempts to drive her away. To top it off, she had even gone so far as to sell her dowry to raise funds to hire an exclusive veteran instructor to make a first-rate adventurer of me. To be perfectly honest, I hadn’t seriously intended to become an adventurer when I had left my home, but Novem going to such lengths for me made me sincerely consider it. In short, Novem was a fine woman who was quite clearly wasted on the likes of me.
With that said, she did tend to be a bit—sorry, let me rephrase that—considerably overbearing. Although that may have had a lot to with how unreliable I was. I had never once left the family estate before I’d been kicked out and had become an adventurer on a whim. I had been completely oblivious about how the world worked and had turned to adventuring out of pure naivete.
But of course, the world outside my house had been a cruel one.
It had been an incredibly short time since my adventuring career had begun, and I’d already failed multiple times. There’d even been several moments where I’d nearly lost heart. It had already been a month since I arrived in Darion, and I was still clinging to Novem like some kind of annoying parasite... Knowing all of that, I think you can imagine why she was following me to the blacksmith.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Novem,” I said, trying to put her at ease. “I’m just going to pick up my weapons.” Her anxiety remained. Was I really that unreliable?
“Was it wrong of me to accompany you?” she asked.
“I really am just going to pick up my weapons,” I replied. “I’ll head to the Guild right after that.”
We’d had morning exchanges like this several times before. She always seemed rather reluctant to let me go, though she ultimately relented.
“Very well. I will be waiting for you on the second floor of the Guild.”
Several shops had already opened their doors, and I could hear them loudly touting their wares to anyone who passed by. Construction was underway on the city’s wall, and I could catch brief glimpses through the gaps between the buildings.
Darion was a city situated near the capital of the Banseim Kingdom and governed by Baron Bentler Lobernia. There was hardly a better place for an adventurer who was just starting out. The knights and soldiers of the baron’s house took care of the surrounding monsters and maintained the peace, allowing the lively city to focus on construction and expansion. This meant that there was plenty of work for newbie adventurers, and they could earn their bread within the safety of the city’s walls. Even if they ventured out, they rarely ever ran across dangerous monsters. This made Darion quite the convenient location for newbies.
Once we hit the next intersection, Novem changed course and made off for the Guild. She turned her head several times to look back at me. I waved her off, giving her a wry smile before getting back on my way. Spring was on the cusp of turning to summer, and the heat of the morning sun had already caused a sweat to break out across my brow.
“She could put a little more trust in me,” I murmured, sighing. “Despite everything, I still took care of those bandits, and I’m finally starting to make money like a proper adventurer.”
I’d ended up exterminating a group of bandits who had been lurking around Darion’s abandoned mines in order to save an acquaintance of mine whom they’d taken captive. Strictly speaking, my intent had been to drive them out of the area, but Lord Bentler and the lords of the surrounding territories had been dragged into the mix, and the bandits had been annihilated. Back then, I’d been advised by the spirits of my ancestors, who lived on in the Jewel embedded in my silver pendant. It was a round blue gemstone that was around three centimeters in diameter.
All of a sudden, I was assaulted by a gruff, booming laugh. “Ga ha ha ha!”
The laugh had come from inside the Jewel—though perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it came from inside my head. Despite the level of noise reverberating through my skull, no one else on the street around me heard a thing. The gruff voice belonged to Basil Walt, founder and first head of House Walt. He wore an animal pelt around his neck and boasted a head of unkempt brown hair. He was dressed like a barbarian—more like he was a barbarian—but that didn’t change the fact that he was the one who had founded the strongest provincial noble house in the kingdom.
“You’ve still got a long way to go, kid,” he said. “Wait until you’re a bit wilder like me.”
The second head, Crassel Walt, stepped in to rain on his parade, as was typical. “Oh, come on, you’re not wild. You’re just an unruly savage. Try not to turn out like him, Lyle.”
The second head was clad in clothing reminiscent of a hunter’s. And, as was rather obvious, he was also the founder’s son. The relationship between the two of them, however, could only be described as abysmal.
“It’s always the same old bickering between you two. I’m surprised you never get sick of it,” mused Crassel’s son, Sley Walt.
The third head was a delicate-looking man with an easy-going air about him, with blond hair that grew just long enough to touch his shoulders. Despite his appearance, he was the greatest schemer among all seven of the house’s historical heads. Although he had carved a name for himself in Banseim’s history as the Hero General, he didn’t give off that vibe in the slightest.
“Personally, I’d agree that Lyle has to put in a bit more work,” he continued.
I could practically see Sley’s son shaking his head in disapproval. The fourth head, Marcus Walt, had aqua blue hair that he kept combed to one side. Marcus had been the head of the house when House Walt had risen in peerage from knight to baron.
“I’ll have to agree with you on that one,” said the fourth head. “However, I hope you don’t mind if I say that you’re the last person I want to hear that from.”
Sley Walt had been the first Walt to die in battle, leaving the house and all its troubles to the fourth head when he was far too young for it. That’s what I’d heard, at least.
“How about you take a good look in the mirror, fourth?” demanded the fifth head, Fredriks Walt. He kept his green hair tied back behind his head, and his eyes could most commonly be found at half-mast. He rarely spoke, but he had apparently decided to join in on the morning’s conversation.
I could hear the sixth head, Fiennes Walt, sighing at his father. Fiennes was the tallest of the heads of House Walt. When he stood beside the petite form of the fifth head, it was hard to tell who was the father and who was the son. The way the sixth head’s red hair grew down the sides of his face and into his beard made him look like he had a lion’s mane. In fact, his appearance was far from what I’d expect from the head of what was then a viscounty. Despite his appearance, he was an amiable man and the head who looked out for me the most. He was something of a big brother figure to me.
“Look,” he said, “I see where Lyle’s coming from here, and I see why Novem is anxious. You should just make sure you do a better job of putting her at ease from here on out, Lyle.”
The opinion he offered seemed quite reliable to me. And yet, the seventh head was quick to cast shade on what had been the only constructive take so far. Brod Walt, otherwise known as my grandfather, had sharp eyes and hair swept back from his forehead. He was known to be a harsh and draconian man, but he had always been kind to me.
“I agree, but that doesn’t quite hit home, coming from you. Regardless, you’ve got two lives weighing on your shoulders now, Lyle. You really must get a grip on yourself.”
Two lives—I was already responsible for two whole lives. The first life was that of my ex-fiancée, Novem, who I had just parted ways with. A woman who had supported me even after I had been driven from my home. I’d sworn I would make her happy, but after coming to Darion, I’d saved a girl named Aria Lockwood from a group of bandits and ended up being forced to take responsibility for her as well. Aria was a girl whose red hair tended to curl in odd angles at the bottom; a girl with purple eyes and a cheerf ul smile. She’d reached out to me when I was down in the dumps after I had first arrived in Darion, so of course I had wanted to help her out.
It had all happened so suddenly.
Aria’s father had faced judgment for the crime of assisting a group of bandits. This sin was considered so grave that the punishment had encompassed his entire family. I’d negotiated with Lord Bentler to save Aria from sharing her father’s fate. As per my promise with the lord, I had driven the bandits from their hideout. They’d been handed over to the knights of the territories they had run rampant in, bringing a delicate territorial issue to a comfortable resolution. In return for my help, Bentler had spared Aria.
She’d still needed to receive some sort of penalty, however, even if only in name. And so Aria had been sold to a brothel. A brothel that, like her punishment, had existed only on paper. Supposedly, I’d immediately bought her out of her bondage and therefore resolved the situation.
This plan had allowed Lord Bentler to shed responsibility for Aria since she’d been “sold off,” while maintaining his honor at the same time. From the outside looking in, it appeared Bentler had sentenced Aria with a just punishment. And technically, just as Bentler had promised me, Aria had been saved from her fate. The lord had just manipulated the situation to appear as he wished using a fictional brothel.
The heads of House Walt were serpents, the whole lot of them, but Lord Bentler wasn’t far behind. That said, the matter had been resolved in the way we wanted it to be. Though unfortunately, it had left a stain on Aria’s good name.
But...there was just one little thing. One vitally important thing!
I had basically taken responsibility for Aria’s life by buying her. I’d immediately set her free, of course. But by then, she had already been penniless with no home to return to. I couldn’t just throw her out, so I’d ended up having to look after her. I could begrudgingly accept that part, but the problem was Novem.
“Hypothetically, wouldn’t it be pretty normal to, you know, be angry or something if the guy you like bought himself a prostitute?!” I demanded. “Am I crazy?”
“Lyle, my boy! If you call yourself a man, then at the very least you can take responsibility for the lives of two women! I believe you can do it!” the founder replied.
The founder happened to be quite biased toward Aria, since she was the spitting image of his first love. Aria was a descendant of hers, in fact. Before we’d met Aria, the very same man who was now encouraging me to take on a harem had acted incredibly uppity toward me, demanding that I make Novem happy. Novem hailed from House Fuchs, after all, a house that every generation of House Walt was greatly indebted to. Now he was yelling at me to make Aria happy as well.
“I never thought Novem would just accept it,” said the second head. He must have been quite fed up with his father at this point. It seemed that every sentence he spoke was punctuated by a sigh. “That was a huge oversight. But Lyle...it’s already been settled. If you don’t hate Aria, just accept that you’re responsible for her now. Oh, what a lucky guy you are! I went through my share of troubles finding a bride, you know... Mainly because of a certain someone’s house rules!”
By house rules, the second head was referring to House Walt’s requirements of any bride marrying the head of the house. They included such things as a high level of attractiveness, clear skin, and so on; there were six in total. But, you see, these requirements had turned out to be nothing more than some babble that our drunken founder had spewed out after his heart had been broken. All because he hadn’t wanted to marry anyone after his first love had married someone else.
Yes, indeed, these marriage requirements that had been carefully honored over the generations had only been the ramblings of a drunkard! That was a truth I’d never wanted to learn. Perhaps I could take away a valuable lesson from the whole situation. Perhaps this was just the way the world worked sometimes.
“I mean, it’s Novem we’re talking about,” I continued on. “Novem. How was I supposed to know she was okay with harems? I’m not that tactful to begin with, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to deal with two women... I see nothing but anxiety ahead of me.”
“Tact. Yes, perhaps that’s an area for improvement. The other issue though...” The fourth head muttered something quite cryptic under his breath.
I wasn’t even able to satisfy Novem despite the fact that I spent an abundance of my time thinking of things I could do for her. Now that Aria had been added to the mix, I had no idea what to do. I’d never even imagined that the number of women in my care would increase. And that wasn’t even taking my heart into account.
“Well, it wouldn’t be a laughing matter if the genders were reversed,” the third head said, perhaps trying to address my worries. “But Novem looked pretty happy, you know. I don’t think she’s going to abandon you... In any case, she’s the second daughter of a baron, so maybe she just thinks it’s natural to have a mistress?”
Novem’s actions had thrown my plans completely out of order. I sighed one more time, then found myself outside of the smithy. Someone had been kind enough to decorate the sign with drawings of various weapons and types of armor for those who couldn’t read.
I put my conversation with the ancestors on hold. To tell you the truth, rowdy discussions like this actually took a toll on my mana. The Jewel already sucked my mana passively, and it appeared to draw on more with every sentence my ancestors spoke... If they rambled on for too long and kept draining me, I’d end up collapsing from mana deficiency. This meant that because of my ancestors, who had for some reason been revived as memories within the Jewel, I typically had very little mana left in reserve for my own use. As a result, I’d become abysmal at magic, which used to be my pride and joy.
The whole point of Jewels like mine was they were supposed to be a tool that allowed one to use Arts—convenient special abilities that differed from magic. But, to make matters worse, I couldn’t even use most of the Arts recorded in my Jewel. If you told me it was some sort of cursed item, I’d be inclined to believe you. I was already pretty convinced of the idea myself.
As for my current state, if you’d asked me to describe it, I’d have to go with something to the tune of “half-baked.”
“But at least I’m doing a little better than when I first left House Walt,” I said to myself, trying to bolster my spirits. “Hopefully... Never mind, I should just go on inside.”
The space behind the door was filled with the scent of iron, leather, and oil. The shop was already busy despite the early hour, but something didn’t seem quite right.
The shop’s manager and proprietress was a dwarven woman who had the proportions of a young lass. Dwarves were one of the longer-lived races and tended to be smaller than humans, so it wasn’t strange to discover that a dwarf with a youthful appearance was actually sixty or even a hundred years old.
The shop’s proprietress fit the bill; she looked like a stocky little girl clad in a leather apron. What bothered me, though, was the troubled look on her face and the hand she had pressed to her brow. She was dealing with a young man—short, and a bit plump—whose clothes were even grimier than the people on the street. By my estimation, he looked to be a traveler who had just arrived in Darion.
What’s more, a set of metal armor had been laid on the counter between them. A full set, albeit badly dented and scratched up. There was a large opening at one point in particular which looked like it would have been pretty fatal.
“I-I’m sorry,” the short man said, a fretful look on his face. “But can’t we work something out...?”
“Hmm...” the third head hummed, his interest clearly a bit piqued. “Did he bring in stolen goods? Based on those clothes, he’s a farmer... That armor would be a bit beyond his means. Perhaps he pinched the set off of a vassal? That’s quite the bold move.” Despite the truly outrageous situation, his voice had a jolly tone.
That was when the proprietress noticed me and beckoned me closer. As I reluctantly made my way to the counter, the young man seemed to panic and hurriedly packed the armor away. I only caught a brief glimpse, but I could have sworn I saw dried blood.
“I-I’ll be back,” he said, and rushed out of the store.
The proprietress shrugged at me once he was out of sight.
